True ways of knowing...

Maybe I'm going a bit soft in my "old-age". Because it is close to Valentine's day I thought I would post one of my all-time favourite poems, by one of my all-time favourite poets; the Scottish poet Norman MacCaig. I found this poem tucked away at the bottom of page 141 of my edition of Collected Poems, I memorized it when I was about 17 years old and have never forgotten. For me, it says almost everything I would ever want to say about loving someone. And about being loved.

True ways of knowing

Not an ounce excessive, not an inch too little,
Our easy reciprocations. You let me know
The way a boat would feel, if it could feel,
The intimate support of water.

The news you bring me has been news forever,
So that I understand what a stone would say
If only a stone could speak. Is it sad a grassblade
Can't know how it is lovely?

Is it sad that you can't know, except by hearsay
(My gossiping failing words) that you are the way
A water is that can clench its palm and crumple
A boat's confiding timbers?

But that's excessive, and too little. Knowing
The way a circle would describe its roundness,
We touch two selves and feel, complete and gentle,
The intimate support of being.

The way that flight would feel a bird flying
(If it could feel) is the way a space that's in
A stone that's in a water would know itself
If it had our way of knowing.

Norman MacCaig, Collected Poems